


and, darling, we could be happy after all

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Gay Character, Explicit Sexual Content, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Minor Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Minor Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Requited Love, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unrequited Love, my crackship is meant to be idec, this week i needed escapism just give me this okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 06:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13921419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which soulmates aren't an exact science.





	and, darling, we could be happy after all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TotemundTabu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/gifts).



> ... so, I'm still trying to get over my country's shitty af election results. I was like I CAN JUST WRITE SOME ABSOLUTE WISH-FULFILLMENT FLUFF WITH MY CRACK SHIP OF CHOICE going with the wise suggestion of the person this is dedicated to because he also needs to get over the election's shitty af results. It turned into THIS GODDAMNED THING. Idek guys I needed my escapism, bear with me here.
> 
> Other than that: OF COURSE ASOIAF BELONGS TO GRRM not to me I wish, I own nothing except the darned fluff, the title is from Johnny Cash and idek. Sorry guys we need to think about the crackship having a nice ending in SOME universe instead of how much Italy's politics suck. /o\

The thing about the marks is that they’re _random_.

There’s no way to know when they’ll show up - _if_ they do, though most do show up before you turn five or six -, they’re different for everyone (some people get a name, some others have a symbol, others have the first words their partner will tell them, others have _matching_ symbols) and there’s just one thing they have in common. They are red when they show up, and stay red if your feelings are requited (because they also might not be, though they usually are), they’ll turn black if they’re not.

It’s a hellish system, and while most people still fall into line with it, because after all if the mark denotes a high compatibility _at least_ then your match has to be someone right for you, others don’t bother. It’s not common and it’s maybe a bit frowned upon, but it happens.

And of course, everyone has their opinions on the topic, but the bottom of the line is, it’s _different_ for everyone.

And it’s not necessarily a good thing.

  
  
1.  
  


  
Brynden Tully’s mark doesn’t come until he’s well beyond six.

Honestly, by that point he had figured it just wasn’t going to show up at all, and given that the few times he’s ever found _anyone_ nice to look at it was _other boys_ , he wasn’t looking forward to it, and he had made peace with the idea of not having one - he honestly couldn’t imagine his father being all right with it, nor Hoster, given what he hears during dinner when it comes to discussing their neighbor, who broke it off with his wife because it turns out his soulmate was actually a _man._

So he’s not expecting it when, on February 6th, 1970, when he’s turned twelve a month ago and therefore is _way_ older than usual, he wakes up one morning feeling an insistent, fastidious tingle on his hip.

 _What_ , he thinks as he turns over and looks at it.

Well, _fuck it_ , he thinks, and patience if his mother would wash his mouth with soup if she knew that he was mentally swearing.

There it is.

Right on his skin, written in a nice, _clear_ handwriting.

 _If only it had been one of those ridiculous symbols_ , Brynden thinks, but no. There’s a _Jon_ stamped in red right _there_ , and he highly doubts that there are many women in the world named like that.

Honestly, it _does_ make sense that it’s another man, because _of course_ it would be - he never was the kind of person who likes to lie, he never could be, and he _knows_ that girls never appealed to him either way, and he never saw the point in discussing which of his classmates was cuter with his mates in elementary school, because he’d be thinking that there was nothing _cute_ in girls. If the person he’s supposed to be with or whatever it is a _he_ , it just makes sense.

Still, it’s his damned luck that it had to be one of the most common names in existence _without a surname_.

And on top of that -

He thinks of what would happen if his father found out - honest, he has no idea of how Hoster would take it because other than the neighbor it’s not a topic that gets touched, but he doesn’t think either would take it too well, and then he sighs and decides that at least he got lucky that it didn’t show up on his wrist or somewhere immediately visible.

And he’ll take care to keep it hidden until he’s sure of how well it would be received.

——

He _does_ have a fling with a football mate who’s actually named Jon when he’s fifteen, and it lasts one week before they mutually decide that while it was great to find someone they found attractive enough to actually do _something_ with, they don’t like each other _enough_ to actually risk getting found out - they live in a medium-small Irish town, not in _London_ , and it’s not worth it. Brynden’s mark, though, stays bright red.

 _It wasn’t him, then_ , Brynden figures, but then again it’s not as if _he_ actually ever was in love with him, so it’s a moot point.

No one finds out.

They stay friends with benefits, though - once they end up driving to Dublin for the week-end and have some memorable times in the back row of a cinema while the _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ is showing, and they aren’t even the only ones in the room. Of course they see it again since they missed half of the plot, and all along, as they drive back home, Brynden can’t help thinking that he’d _really_ like it better if he was living somewhere… bigger than someplace where everyone knows him and where if it came out -

Given that their former neighbor moved to a completely different town along with his soulmate, he still doubts it would end over well. It’s already getting harder and harder to find excuses to skip mass, but he certainly can’t say, _the last time I went Father Aeron_ _spent a good half hour explaining how everyone of_ my _sort would end up in Hell and I don’t think I can stand through it without wanting to leave?_

Never mind that he doesn’t really like the idea of a God who _hates_ him for that.

Still, he _does_ have to go to at least the one that’s held every year in remembrance of his mother, and every time it gets worse.

The mark on his hip seems to _burn_ , wherever he walks inside a church, and he can only imagine why.

——

The mysterious Jon isn’t any of the two he meets in university, nor the Welsh kid who only attends his high school on their last year, and none of them was his type anyway. It’s not even his co-worker at the local fish restaurant where he ends up waiting tables when he can’t find anything better - sadly, marine biology is _not_ the degree you get a job with in his town, and after their father’s stroke last year that definitely put him off the job market, they can’t live only on Hoster’s paycheck. Not when after Minisa had two miscarriages she finally had a daughter two years ago and she’s expecting another.

At this point, Brynden’s not even looking for the man anymore - if he ever passes through here, fine, but he’s definitely none of the men named like that in town, and even if he were he should take so many precautions his head pounds just _thinking_ about it.

He figures that he just wasn’t one of those people meant for this whole soulmate thing. Hell, he barely can get laid and he only ever manages when he drives out for the weekend, and not too often.

He also tries to shut down the topic whenever Hoster asks him _when_ is he ever going to get settled - usually, saying that he’s not ready for children and he’s more than happy with spoiling his nieces gets him out of that conversation, but he knows that at twenty-seven he _is_ older than average when it comes to get married, and he _knows_ that Hoster probably noticed he has a few female friends but none he’s particularly close with.

Still, he manages to keep it secret, along with the infamous red mark on his hip.

——

That is, until a few days before his thirtieth birthday and a few months before Minisa is due again, Lysa walks into the house’s only bathroom while he’s shaving.

Without a shirt on.

With his hip _definitely_ uncovered.

He tells her to wait a minute and he finishes shaving, hoping that she hasn’t noticed and that she won’t tell, but he’s not so lucky.

“Brynden,” Hoster asks him the moment he walks downstairs for breakfast, “was Lysa making it up when she asked me why you had a soulmark that _none of us_ ever heard about?”

Well, _fuck._

It’s been long enough that Brynden knows this conversation _won’t_ go over well. Then again, he figures, not bearing whoever this Jon is any ill, it’s not as if he could have kept it hidden forever.

“No,” he replies. “And if you wanted to know why I haven’t tried to get married yet, you know it. And no, I don’t know who the guy is and I haven’t met him yet. Will this be a problem?” He hopes, he _really_ hopes that a frontal approach to the issue might help, but -

“Are you _out of your bloody mind_? You’ve just told me that you have a _man_ ’s name on your hip and you’re asking _if it will be a problem_?”

Here it goes, Brynden thinks. Then again - in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

“It’s most probably a man’s name because I’ve always fancied men and I’ve known since I was eight. I’m telling you the facts. And if that changes your opinion of me when you’ve known me this long, I don’t even know what I should tell you.”

A moment later, he realizes that it was a very, very wrong approach to the issue.

——

Two days later, he’s packed his bags, resigned from the fish restaurant - honestly, he didn’t even like working there even if he made manager, and at least it means he has some money saved - and buys a one-way ticket to London.

——

He finds a flat to co-rent in Shoreditch with another three guys who definitely are _not_ into women and are entirely too understanding of his plight, and whose fourth roommate just moved out, so it works great for all of them. Then he goes around looking for a job and for some kind of miracle they’re hiring people to work at the aquarium at Horniman Museum, and at least he gets to use his degree in _some_ way, and when they find out that he spent his birthday on the plane to London his roommates drag him out for drinks and introduce him to their friends, and another one is named Jon and they spend a very nice evening having fully protected sex - they’re not damned _stupid_ , and even if he spent most of his life in a small town where no one died of AIDS he _knows_ the risks, but it’s obvious he’s not _the_ Jon, either.

Still, at least he finally gets to spend the weekend out and to meet people and to get laid properly and reasonably for the first time in his life, and he’s not surprised when he still sends his brother a telegram with his new address and phone number and he doesn’t receive an answer.

He figures that Hoster just needs time to get adjusted to it, or so he hopes.

——

Then, one day when he comes back from work particularly late, the phone rings while he’s trying to find the force of will to cook something and he lets Jeremy take the call.

That is, until he’s told that it’s for _him_.

He takes it and finds himself talking to his eldest niece, who’s _crying_ into the receiver and telling him that her mother’s died while giving birth and her father said they weren’t supposed to call him but she thought he should know and she found his telegram in the trash and kept it.

“Put your father on the line,” he tells her after trying to console her as much as he can when she’s in _Ireland_ and he’s _here_.

He asks if he can come back for the funeral.

The phone gets slammed in his face.

 _That went over well_ , he sighs, and closes the call.

——

In the next years, he runs into a number of men named Jon, and none of them is the right one.

Of course. At this point, he’s not even looking.

He saves enough money that he can rent his own flat a few years later, even if he stays friends with all his former roommates, and never quite leaves Shoreditch - he likes it, even if it takes one hour of commute to get to his workplace and back. He _does_ like his job, and they like him there, and no one asks anything about why he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and he doesn’t talk to his brother again but Cat calls from time to time or sends him a letter and he sends one back but not at their address - she gave him a friend’s and he uses that one.

On his thirty-eight birthday, he thinks he could have done worse. He has friends, he _does_ get laid more or less regularly if not _all the time_ , if he saves for another ten years or so he’ll get to actually buy that apartment out rather than renting it, he has a job he likes and that pays him well enough and he’s not dead like a few of his friends’ friends - he’s gone to less funerals than most people he knows, but he’s attended enough to know he got lucky. His mark on his hip is still bright red.

The infamous Jon hasn’t showed up and by now he might as well never do.

And he’s not expecting anyone when someone knocks at his door while he’s finishing his meager celebrations with a glass of red wine - he’s working tomorrow and he’ll most probably have dinner with friends on the weekend, but he couldn’t really go out or anything tonight.

He opens the door. And -

“ _Cat_?”

His niece is standing outside, wearing a heavy blue coat and with a suitcase and a backpack hauled on her shoulder.

“Uncle,” she says. “Uh, it’s been a long time, is it?”

“It has,” he replies, and suddenly he feels horribly sad for not having been there while she grew up all long, but he knew that he wouldn’t be welcomed if he actually tried to go back. “And come in instead of freezing.”

She does, and he can’t help notice that she looks to the ground a moment later, almost - guiltily?

“Hey,” he tells her, “I don’t know if it was a surprise visit or something else, but - is there something wrong?”

“I kind of wanted this to be a surprise visit,” she says, “but - I kind of need your help. Maybe.”

“For what?”

She sits on the sofa and doesn’t quite look at him as she speaks. “I, had a boyfriend.”

“You _had_ one?”

“He moved into town a few years ago - he was twenty then, and it was for work. His father owns a restaurants chain and they were looking to open one and he was managing the entire thing. We met because I interviewed to work there a year ago or so - Father’s not getting any younger and we needed the extra money.”

“You know I _could_ have -”

She shakes her head. “I know, but just mentioning you to Father is really not a good idea. The last time I tried, he sent me to confess.”

“ _What_?”

“Well, if it consoles you, the new priest isn’t half as terrible as Father Aeron. When I told him why, he said that according to him hating - queers is ridiculous because if God created you like that then He can’t hate you, and I agreed, and we spent twenty minutes talking shop. That said, it wasn’t an option. _Anyway_.” She sighs and shows Brynden her hand - there’s a wolf’s head inked in red inside it.

“It’s the same shape as their chain’s logo. And when Brandon asked me out I thought he was the one, so - when things got _farther_ than that, I didn’t - I didn’t say no.”

“Fair enough. And?”

She sighs. “He moved out two months later saying that he always knew. And - I felt horribly and I think half of the town knows that we weren’t _chaste_ and people look at me wrong, but that mark didn’t turn black, so - if it’s _him_ \- I don’t know, but I knew he was moving back here and I thought I would try to find him. Father might have made me understand that I’d better come back with a ring on my finger, but knowing him - I don’t know. Anyway, I - I think I need a place to sleep until I find him.”

He shakes his head and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Cat, you _know_ you don’t have to ask, do you?”

He’s not surprised when she throws her arms around his shoulders and breaks down crying into his jacket, and he’s not surprised to hear her say, when she’s also drinking some of his wine later, that apparently everyone in town doesn’t even call him by his name anymore.

“Really. And how do they call me?”

“Blackfish,” she sighs. “It’s not nice, but -”

“You know what,” Brynden smiles, “it’s actually _not bad_ at all. If I have to be the black sheep of the family and I work with fish, I might as well embrace it.”

“What, seriously?”

“Finish your wine, tomorrow I’ll wire your father to inform him I’m delighted.”

She laughs, and he laughs with her, and he just hopes she does find her guy.

——

Cat _does_ end up with a ring on her finger a year later.

Except that it’s _not_ Brandon Stark as she had thought. It’s _his brother_ , who has nothing to do with the family chain but works in the police and was appalled when he found out what kind of arse his brother had been and had helped her track Brandon down because he was _on a business trip in South America_.

Turns out that by the time they had, Cat was more than smitten with _Ned_ Stark instead, and then realized that if the wolf was the logo of their _family_ brand maybe her soulmate wasn’t the one she thought it was, and when she pointed that out to Ned he suddenly seemed to _realize_ something. Turns out that his soulmark was a clover, and both that and the wolf on her hand glowed red the moment he showed it to her.

Turns out that Brynden finally met his brother again at Cat’s wedding, and they are civil to each other, and even if it doesn’t get to be more than that he figures it’s better than nothing. Lysa grew up lovely but she’s also apparently not happy that her father doesn’t approve of _her_ boyfriend, while Edmure - who Brynden hasn't seen since he barely two, probably - is the most polite ten year old Brynden’s ever met and he has a feeling it’s Cat’s merit.

He ends up being Cat’s witness, and if he feels a tiny bit jealous that she _did_ meet her match and that they look so happy together his teeth could rot, patience.

He has a feeling that it’s good enough he got _here_ in the first place, that he survived the eighties and that not counting _that_ , his life is pretty good and now he might have most of his family back in it.

If he never ends up running into the infamous Jon whose name still burns bright red on his hip, well, maybe he was never meant to be with _someone_ specifically, but he’s lived until now, he’ll survive for the rest of his life.

It really, _really_ could have been a lot worse.

 

2.

 

When Jon wakes up in the morning of February 6th, 1976, his sixth birthday, his shoulder is tingling, exactly as it should have.

 _It must be my soul mark_ , he thinks excitedly as he gets out of bed and runs over to his mirror.

It’s a name, written in neat, small caps.

It reads _Rhaegar_.

Jon doesn’t know anyone with that name, but he immediately likes it - it’s _unique_ , and it sounds lovely as he says it out loud once, twice. It sounds like its out of a fairytale - it’s the name he’d give to some prince who rides a dragon, if he had to write one. And whoever it is, it certainly won’t be hard to recognize him - after all, he doubts it’s common or anything of the kind. For a moment he’s about to run out of the room to show it to his father, and then he remembers that he couldn’t be here - he’s on a work trip to France and he won’t be back until next week.

(His mother died of a late comeback of measles when he was four - he barely remembers her, for that matter.)

So he does the next best thing and shows it to his nanny, who’s around for the entire week-end, and when she sees it, she gasps.

“Is there something bad about it?” Jon asks.

She shakes her head. “It’s not a girl,” she replies, keeping her voice down.

“So?” He doesn’t see the problem. If women can like men in movies, then surely men can like men too, right?

She shakes her head. “Well, there’s - nothing _wrong_ with it, in itself. But - most people think it’s not natural, and not many boys have boys’s names on them. Don’t just tell _anyone_ , all right?”

“I - I won’t,” he promises, because she sounds _serious_.

He still doesn’t think there’s much wrong with it, but he figures he will follow the advice - for now.

——

He does show it to his father, a few months later. But he’s tired - he always is - and he just glances at it, congratulates him and goes back to his phone to call one of his partners to discuss selling shares or whatever it is they do.

Jon sighs and figures that he’ll keep it for himself until he finds Rhaegar - after all, who else needs to know?

——

He meets Rhaegar the first day of high school.

He’s _not_ surprised to find out he comes from actual blue blood - after all, they’re going to an exclusive private school that only accepts a limited number of pupils and Jon got in _both_ because his father could afford it and because he had the grades for it. But the moment they are introduced, Jon thinks, _I was right when I said he could be a prince out of fairytales_. He’s just slightly taller than Jon himself, has long blonde hair so pale it looks almost silver and violet eyes of such a unique shade, Jon has to fight himself to not stare too long when they’re introduced. But other than that, he has a nicely toned body - though not _too_ muscled, which is, well, very pleasing on the eyes -, a face that seems just out of an ancient Greek sculpture and pale, smooth skin without a single flaw, and such a lovely smile, Jon thinks he would be smitten even if Rhaegar _wasn’t_ his soulmate.

He’s _maybe_ slightly disappointed when they introduce but nothing happens - he knows that when soulmates recognize each other their marks glow red and _stay_ red and you can feel it, but then again it’s _when both people recognize the other_. And not everyone has a soulmark with the other’s _name_ on it - what if Rhaegar has something other than Jon’s name and hasn’t put two and two together? Yes, that has to be it. And it’s not like Jon’s in a hurry - after all, he _knows_ who his soulmate is, and they are sitting at the same desk, and he’s sure they’ll be friends in a short time also because Rhaegar is charming and definitely _not_ the kind of person who doesn’t talk to you, so why hurrying?

For real, if he just _looks_ at Rhaegar, he knows he could wait years for him to figure it out. It’s fine, after all. If he’s _Jon’s_ soulmate, he will have to at some point, and he has nothing but time in front of him.

——

Thing is: Rhaegar is the most amazing person he’s ever met and the more time they spend together the more Jon _knows_ he’s the right one, no doubt about it. It’s not just that he’s breathtakingly beautiful and he’s a delight to be with and he’s great at everything he does, and if you’re his friend he gives you his full attention every time you need him; it’s that, just being _with_ him makes him feel like a planet orbiting around a beautiful, bright star, and Jon can’t honestly imagine ever wanting anyone else.

Right, he _can_ appreciate a nicely looking guy, and he definitely knows he doesn’t feel attracted to women in any way, shape or form by the time he’s fifteen and he’s only ever jerked off thinking about Rhaegar’s lovely, bright violet eyes, but Rhaegar’s just an entire different level, and what if he dreams of the moment Rhaegar figures out?

Sure, Jon could tell him, but -

Thing is, he’s been over at Rhaegar’s house - pardon, _manor_ \- more than once, either on his own or with their friends, and while Rhaegar is the best person he’s ever ran into, his father - well, his father is a piece of work, and from what little Jon has seen and heard of the man he’s hardly tolerant. Hell, he’s not even tolerant of immigrants, never mind _queers_. He _knows_ Rhaegar doesn’t care or Jon wouldn’t be his soulmate _and_ he would have had a problem or ten when Oberyn told the whole lot of them he liked both men and women, but -

It’s not a _good_ climate these days, and as much as Jon doesn’t know anyone outside his group of friends it doesn’t mean he doesn’t read the news and he doesn’t know that people like _him_ (and Oberyn) are dying at an alarming rate of that HIV disease everyone talks about, and he doesn’t really want to risk things between them getting weird _before_ Rhaegar finds out.

So he keeps his mouth shut.

He does tell Oberyn after his sixteenth birthday party, though, if anything because he has to tell _someone_ and he knows that if he told his father he would most likely not even hear him and react the way he would if Jon informed him that tomorrow the weather might be rainy.

“Finally,” Oberyn laughs.

“What?”

“I’ve known since the first day of school. The way you look at Rhaegar isn’t exactly _subtle_ , Connington.”

Jon shrugs and figures that since there is someone he can talk about it with, he might as well go all in. He pulls up the sleeve of his shirt and shows Oberyn his shoulder.

“Oh,” Oberyn says, suddenly turning serious. “ _Oh_. Well, that - that makes sense. But - doesn’t he know?”

“I don’t think he has my name,” he replies. “He must have something else. And - you know how his father is. I just - I’d rather wait until he figures it out.”

“Fair enough,” Oberyn replies, but he sounds _pensive_. “It’s just - never mind. Those things are weird. I’m sure he’ll figure that out,” he says, clapping Jon on the shoulder. “And if in the meantime you want to get laid, just ask me. Don’t worry, I’m clean.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that,” Jon tells him. “But - I’d rather wait for him, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Hey, sure thing, I never forced anyone. Offer’s open until I run into Ellaria, or so she should be called. And if she’s _my_ soulmate, she probably won’t be against sharing.”

Jon laughs, figuring that it would only make sense. “Good luck,” he tells Oberyn, and means it.

——

When he turns seventeen, he doesn’t change his mind about waiting for Rhaegar to come around, but he realizes that he can’t just hang out with the same six, seven people only _one_ of which knows that he likes men. He asks Oberyn if he might tag along next time he goes out to one of those clubs he always raves about and Oberyn accepts gladly.

There, he finds out clubs are really _not_ his thing - he’s fine with dancing but he’s not into the music, and given that he’s _not_ here to hook up he feels like a fish out of water, but while smoking a cigarette outside, he start talking to this woman in her twenties who’s also outside in order to smoke. She says her name is Dacey and she’s into both men and women, and she’s in her local GLF group and she invites him to the next meeting.

He goes, figuring that at most he’s not going to come back, but then he comes back the next week, and it’s not as if his father will notice or like anyone will know where he goes on Thursday afternoon. He gets asked out a few times, he says no because he’s waiting for his soulmate, everyone respects it and they wish the best to him and that Rhaegar figures it out soon.

Jon is sure he will - he’s confident he will. But he makes some friends and if at some point people ask him how things go with his _silver prince_ because that’s how it sounds like from the way he talks about him, he thinks he likes how it sounds.

——

By the time he’s graduated high school and turned eighteen, Rhaegar _hasn’t_ figured it out yet, but Jon doesn’t fault him for it, especially given that from what he says his parents are having _issues_ and he’s looking after his siblings half of the time - they all chime in to help, of course, but it’s obvious he has bigger issues on his mind than worrying about his love life.

By the time he’s nineteen, things on that front haven’t changed, but half of the people who used to come to those meetings don’t come anymore and while Jon won’t risk going to marches and outing himself, he _does_ not so secretly slip the local GLF circle as much money as he can spare to help out with buying meds or pay out rents, since whoever’s not coming anymore is also _not_ working anymore, in most cases.

By the time he’s twenty, he’s attended some ten funerals and half of them he attended along with Oberyn, who comes with the infamous Ellaria (he met her in university and she definitely isn’t against sharing, _as long as they’re all responsible_ ).

After the thirteenth, right at the beginning of the new year, he goes with Oberyn for drinks.

They say nothing for some twenty minutes.

Then -

“Jon, not to pry, and I know it’s not what I should be asking you after burying someone, but has Rhaegar -”

“Not yet,” Jon sighs. “But I’m all right with waiting. Really.”

Oberyn raises an eyebrow. “Mate, you sure always had more force of will than _I_ ever had. Still, maybe you _should_ tell him? I mean, if you do, he _will_ realize.”

It’s - a fair point. “I know, but he’s busy these days, and you know his father’s really… out of it lately.”

“I _do_ ,” Oberyn mutters, “but still, you’ve known him how long? Almost _seven_ years? I mean, that can’t be healthy. Right, I guess you dodged a few bullets while waiting for him, but - I love the man, I do, but I’ve known him since elementary school and he can be slow on the uptake.”

“It’s all right,” Jon says, “really. I don’t mind. He’s the one, after all. However much time it takes him, it can’t be _that_ long.”

Oberyn doesn’t look _too_ convinced. “If you say so,” he shrugs. “But think about it. It can’t be healthy.”

He _does_ have a point, Jon figures, but it’s all right. It really is. He can wait, and he can’t go and bother Rhaegar with it when it’s obvious he has other things on his mind.

He doesn’t mind. Really, _he doesn’t_.

——

By the time he’s gotten his (boring, safe) economics degree that will allow him to take his father’s place when it’s time (not the job he wants, but he doesn’t know how to say otherwise) and Rhaegar also got his from Eton (of course he did), he still hasn’t figured it out and out of everyone Jon used to know at his local support group, only two people are still attending. Everyone else is dead or sick or about to leave this mortal coil. Jon has been to more funerals than his own father, most probably, and the sad thing is that he doesn’t even know, but then again he doesn’t remember the last time they actually _talked_ about anything in a not entirely superficial way.

By the time his twenty-fifth birthday rolls by, the situation has barely changed except that not _as many_ people in the new wave of members disappear after a few months.

Then his father dies in his sleep because of an aneurysm, and there’s nothing to be done about it, and Jon is _nowhere near ready_ to run a company or to take his place.

Of course, he can’t invite Dacey nor anyone from the GLF, but he invites all his other friends, and when Rhaegar comes inside the church all dressed in black and actually hugs him when offering condolences, Jon feels ashamed that for a moment he thinks, _maybe he figured it out_ , but no, his mark doesn’t hurt, even if when he checks it later he finds it still bright red, if maybe a shade darker. Still -

He commits to memory the feeling of Rhaegar’s body pressed against his, of his arms around his shoulders, of his hands on his skin, and he thinks, _one day it won’t be a one-off occasion._

 _I just have to be patient_.

——

That is, until six months later he has lunch with Rhaegar and finds him - very excited?

Why?

They have lunch once per week usually, and he never looked _this_ happy.

 _Might it be that_ -

“I see you might be the bearer of good news?” Jon asks him, cautiously.

“You can’t imagine,” Rhaegar says. “But anyway, I think I have very good news. I haven’t told anyone yet.”

“I’m honored to be the first,” Jon says, smiling, and he means it. _Come on_ , he thinks, _tell me you figured it out_.

“See,” Rhaegar says, “I think I might have run into the right person.”

Jon’s blood goes cold. “The - the right person?” He asks, keeping his voice even.

“Well,” Rhaegar says, “Thing is, I never told anyone because, well, people would have talked.”

“About what?”

“About my mark.”

 _Oh, finally._ “Well, you never - said anything about it.”

“I couldn’t, since _I don’t have one_.”

Suddenly, Jon’s blood isn’t running cold anymore. It’s _freezing_. “You - you don’t?”

“I never got one. Not that it changed my life _that_ greatly, but you know, sometimes people don’t, and others assume they’re heartless or unlovable or psychopaths. It’s not anything I’d like people to assume about me, since I’m not _that_.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Jon blurts, trying to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest. Which might as well happen, given what Rhaegar is saying.

“Well, yesterday I was at a company party. Father wants to do business with Rickard Stark - you know, the guy who owns Winterfell.”

Oh. That famous restaurants chain. “Sure. I’ve eaten at one of his places a couple times.”

“His daughter was there. And - we started talking. Turns out, she doesn’t have a mark either.”

 _Oh_.

“She - she doesn’t?”

“No,” Rhaegar says, “and she was also relieved at running into someone… who was like her, shall we say. And you don’t know how liberating it would be to get to be with someone who _doesn’t_ expect you to be their match or with whom you know it cannot work out because you _know_ they’re not.”

“I - I can imagine,” Jon says, on autopilot, as he forces himself to bring his artichokes to his mouth without throwing them up.

“So, I think I’ll have dinner with her soon and we’ll see. Isn’t it _great_?”

“Of - of course it is,” Jon says, swallowing the artichokes along with the tears he wants to shed. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

“Thank you,” Rhaegar says, smiling brightly. “I knew you would understand. You always do.”

Jon smiles.

He thinks, _maybe I should’ve been an actor_ , because if Rhaegar _doesn’t_ ask himself whether he meant it, he must have really pulled it off.

Because everything he’s feeling inside, is certainly _not_ happiness.

——

He drives back home and forgets the entire ride until he’s parked the car.

He goes to the bathroom and takes off his shirt with shaking hands.

Rhaegar’s name is still there.

Too bad that it’s turned from red to black.

——

The next day, he calls Oberyn.

“Listen,” he asks, “if Ellaria still agrees, is your offer to get me laid still valid?”

“… That was unexpected,” Oberyn says. “But it might be. I always thought you were fairly easy on the eyes. But why?”

He figures that at least he owes Oberyn the truth.

“I went to lunch with Rhaegar yesterday and it turns out that _he’s never had a mark_ and that he’s very much interested into a girl he met who _doesn’t have one either_ , and his name on my shoulder just turned black, and he still doesn’t know, and I’ve known him for ten years and I got that mark _exactly_ twenty years ago, and I think I really bloody need to get laid. And you’re a friend, so it would be entirely less embarrassing to _me_ if it was you. But if it can’t be, I’ll just get out and -”

“Jon,” Oberyn interrupts him, “you’re _not_ losing your v-card in some club’s stall with some guy you don’t even know. I’m coming over. If anything, _I_ am going to make you forget about Rhaegar or my rep is absolutely _not_ deserved.”

Jon snorts so that he doesn’t cry into the receiver.

——

Turns out, Oberyn’s _that_ good and Jon does definitely _not_ think about Rhaegar for half of the afternoon.

At least _that_.

——

After that, he dates sparingly. Every time he ends up in bed with blonde guys, he feels so _bad_ about it, he eventually gives up on saying yes if anyone who even remotely looks like Rhaegar proposes him. If they don’t look like him, it’s _better_. Still - it feels not quite right.

And then two things happen at once.

First, Rhaegar calls him at five in the morning from the cabin below his house, telling him that he and Lyanna Stark are _eloping_ and they need a witness, would he please come down?

Jon, who’s still in love with him even if he wishes he _wasn’t_ , says yes and joins Arthur Dayne in the back of Rhaegar’s car. It’s the first time he sees Lyanna Stark - she’s young, has to be around twenty, with dark hair and grey eyes, and he can’t find anything attractive about her, but then again, when has he ever found a woman attractive?

Arthur ends up being her witness, he is Rhaegar’s. They disappear driving towards France after then. Arthur drives him back home and says nothing, probably sensing his mood.

That evening, he gets so drunk he can barely drag himself to bed after, and then the next morning he throws up on the floor while his head pounds, but then his entire arm does, and what the _hell_?

He checks and finds out that Rhaegar’s name on his shoulder has disappeared, _and_ that _something else_ took his place.

This one isn’t a name.

This one is a shape. He blinks, checks better.

It’s a _fish._

Some fish that _might_ be a trout, Jon thinks, maybe, but -

The thing is -

It’s black. It’s pitch, full black, and after staring at it for a moment, he drops back sitting on the bed, puts his hands to his face and bursts out crying.

 _Fuck’s sake_ , he loses Rhaegar when he was never _his_ in the first place, and he gets a new mark, _that’s already black and therefore it means that even if he moves on, his feelings won’t ever be returned_?

Why does the universe hate him so fucking much?

He doesn’t know.

But does it even matter? He puts himself together long enough to call his office and tell them that he’ll take a sick day, and then he throws himself back on the bed after closing the blinds.

He’ll clean up the floor later.

——

He shows the mark to Oberyn a few days later, if only because he had guessed that _something_ wasn’t right.

Oberyn’s eyes go very, very wide.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he says, apologetically. “I mean, these things are random, we all know that, but -”

“They might as well be a damned prison,” Jon sighs. “Anyway, I think the universe is trying to tell me I’m never going to find anyone, I might as well fucking embrace it.” He tops that sentence by drinking half of his vodka in one go.

Oberyn grimaces openly. “Don’t be _that_ \- doom and gloom about it. I mean, it’s - in theory it _shouldn’t_ be black from the get-go, or it doesn’t have a point. Maybe it’s just something else weird about it.”

“As if,” Jon sighs, “I think I had enough of _weird_ marks with the first one.”

Then he downs the rest of his vodka so that if tears come to his eyes, at least he has an excuse.

——

 _Then_ , it turns out that Rhaegar and Lyanna _didn’t_ lose time and they move back into his mansion when it turns out she’s pregnant, too.

Jon thinks that _maybe_ he should quit the company and go into acting _for real_ if Rhaegar doesn’t understand that he was slowly dying inside as he told him all about how that baby would have been _revolutionary_ and a sign that people could just _be with each other_ without a damned soulmark, or without _caring_ about it.

 _They do that already,_ Jon wants to tell him, but what’s the point? He congratulates Rhaegar on the good news, tells him that he’ll be there for anything should he need him, miraculously doesn’t break down in tears when Rhaegar’s hand covers his as he thanks him for being such a great friend, and he just hopes for that child’s sake that they’ve moved out before he’s born because the last thing anyone under the age of ten needs is being around Aerys Targaryen.

——

They _don’t_ move out.

Jon swallows his pride and any jealous feeling he might have for Lyanna and shows up at the mansion regularly, he agrees with Arthur when it’s time to organize the baby shower and whatever else needs to be organized, he’s _there_ whenever he’s needed even if it kills him to be and from the way Oberyn looks at him it’s obvious that he’s this close to miserable, except that of course no one who doesn’t know would notice.

When it turns out they’re naming the kid after _him_ , he bursts out crying and he doesn’t even know his feelings about it, but if that’s the most he gets from Rhaegar _and_ from the universe, he’s definitely not going to be an asshole about it and he’ll appreciate the gesture for what it is.

At least, when the baby’s born, it’s obvious he looks like Lyanna, which does _not_ please his grandfather at all - the things he says on the day they invite most of their friends to the manor to celebrate that both baby and mother are healthy and back home make Jon’s skin crawl, but he says them under his breath and Rhaegar doesn’t hear them, and Jon vows to keep his eyes open.

“Er, I didn’t want to ask _them_ ,” he asks Oberyn later, when they’re out on the balcony for a cigarette, “but do you know why it’s just _us_ and Rhaegar’s relatives and not Lyanna’s?”

Oberyn shrugs and shakes his head. “I think that business operation went awry after Stark’s daughter _eloped_ with him. They aren’t in good relations. I mean, if I’m not wrong her brother got married a bit after she and Rhaegar did, but she didn’t attend.”

“That - doesn’t sound too great,” Jon says, exhaling smoke into the cold air. He really needs to quit.

“Don’t you tell me,” Oberyn shrugs, “where I come from, this kinda thing doesn’t fly. But what do I know. We’ll see how it goes.”

“Fair enough.”

“And are you sure you don’t want me to introduce you to a couple friends -”

“No,” he immediately says. “I - I wouldn’t really be great company right now. I’m fine. If I need to get laid you’ll be the first to know.”

“Fair, as well. But - Jon, really, if I can give you a piece of advice… I’d try to get over him. I _know_ it’s hard, but you also know _it wasn’t him_ and whatever the universe is telling you, you can’t be miserable all your life because he wasn’t - _he wasn’t_.”

“I know,” Jon tells him, and - he does. He really does.

But he’s been in love with Rhaegar for _years_.

And it’s hard to just let that go.

——

Turns out: they _should_ have moved out.

As much as Jon would like to say otherwise and as much as a part of him would like to deny it, _neither_ of them was ready for kids and it shows by how much _he_ ends up babysitting his namesake after he decides that he can’t handle company business anymore and that if he has to hate his life he might as well _not_ hate his job and he sells his share to his father’s business associates with the deal that he still gets a percentage of the incomes and he gets to keep what money _he_ earned until now. That means he can _finally_ spend some time doing counseling at the support center _and_ organizing rallies or fundraisers and so on without worrying about corporate business and stock transactions, and it also means that of course _he_ is the designated friend to leave the kid with.

Turns out, he’s actually _good_ with children.

He keeps on thinking that the universe really, really _hates_ him - of course he’s good with them, or at least this one, and of course he’s into _men_ and it’s a miracle that now you can’t be fired for being into the same sex anymore, as if he’ll ever have any of his own.

That’s not the point, though. The point is that his namesake tends to _not_ speak much even after he starts to (later than he should have, Jon _has_ checked it), and while he _always_ is fairly quiet by the time he’s four and he barely makes any noise whenever they drop him at his place, Jon starts thinking something’s _not quite right_.

He kind of doesn’t want to ask, but then he does, and when he’s calmly told something that basically amounts to _Aerys gets mad if he notices that kid is there at all_ , he wants to punch a wall.

And if the kid’s entirely aware of that at _four_ -

He tries to breach the subject with Rhaegar, but what he gets in return is a shrug and _the pediatrician said that it’s normal that they might be quieter than usual until they go to school, and I know Father’s what he is, but he’s better if the entire family’s around_. Lyanna, as far as she’s concerned, is - well, she just enrolled for a PhD and apparently her academical career is being brilliant and the fact that she and Rhaegar don’t feel _obliged_ to be with each other means that they’re still having a _mutually beneficial_ relationship or whatever, but she doesn’t really seems cut for kids, and it’s probably not her _fault_ , but -

Listen, Jon is still trying to get over the fact that he barely managed to _not_ scream at Rhaegar when he said they had _unprotected sex_ , he just thinks that if you want children you should be somewhat more responsible about it, or you shouldn’t have them. Sure as hell the poor kid would rather _not_ live with his grandfather than being the living proof that you can have children and a profitable relationship with you both don’t have soul marks. Never mind that a _lot_ of the people he’s met through the years had either ignored theirs and a few didn’t have them, either, and they were better parents than _that_ if they had children, so he has a distinct feeling that it wasn’t about proving a point at all.

He calls Oberyn, again. For all that he and Ellaria are _open_ , sure as hell he’s raising kids who don’t flinch if _they_ make noise.

“Listen,” he asks him, “did you say Lyanna Stark had a brother who got married around the time she had?”

“Yeah,” Oberyn tells him, “the only one in the family who’s not in the business.”

“Why, what does he do?”

“He’s with the Yard. Why?”

“Because I have a feeling Rhaegar’s kid could _absolutely_ benefit from spending time with relatives who don’t want to smite him out of existence if they so much notice he’s there, so unless she has bad relations with this one brother -”

“Well,” Oberyn says, “from what I heard, he’s not in great relations with _Brandon_ Stark for some reason I never knew, but he and Lyanna _do_ have lunch together once per month or something of the kind.”

Jon _knows_ that this is going to possibly ruin things between him and Rhaegar for good, and he’s going to suffer for it, and he shouldn’t overstep his boundaries, but -

 _Someone_ in here has to be a responsible adult, damn it.

“Can you find me Stark’s number?” He asks.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Do we all want this kid to grow up completely fucking paranoid about anything he does?”

“… Put it like that. I’ll find you that number.”

——

Thing is -

He had expected them to get angry.

When instead _both_ Rhaegar and Lyanna end up thanking him because they had realized it was a bad situation but they didn’t know how to approach it and she didn’t want to ask such a thing of her brother when his wife’s expecting their second child and Rhaegar agreed that it was the best solution for everyone if Jon actually stayed with Lyanna’s brother, he puts on a practiced smile and says he’s glad it all ended for the best.

Inside, he’s asking himself, _why did you even have children if you both weren’t ready for it_ , but he doesn’t voice that because really, it’d be useless.

At least he did it before Aerys could traumatize that poor child for life.

——

That evening, he spends a full minute staring at that black trout inked on his arm, right where Rhaegar’s name used to be. It’s still black.

Fair enough. He figures it just - wasn’t meant to be.

Whoever this person is, he hopes they found someone - after all, he seems to have a knack for matching with people who won’t match _with him_. But he’s lived until now and he’ll live.

It could have been a lot worse. He could have found out _later_ than he actually did, after all.

 

3.

 

“Of course I can bring the kids to the aquarium, if they want,” Brynden tells Cat when she asks him if he could take both Robb and Jon for the afternoon - she and Ned have the yearly anniversary dinner and he’s always kept an eye on Robb for them while they went, it’s not as if he’ll have a problem keeping an eye on his cousin, too. “It’s just, I have a late day. I mean, we’re doing a joint exhibition with an American museum and their responsible will be in the office when it’s seven PM here, and I’ll be there until nine at least. I don’t know if I can take them back before then.”

“It’s fine,” she says, “if you can’t, they’ll probably have fun anyway. But just so you don’t have to worry about them into the evening, too, I’ll let you know if we can find someone to drive them back without you having to do it.”

“Great. Let me know then,” he tells his niece, and goes back to the e-mail he needs to send to this one marine fish farmer who should send over a few rare species for the aquarium, if he ever decides on a price.

He gets a text.

 _We found them a ride, it’s that friend of Rhaegar’s he named Jon after. He says he’ll be there around six_.

Brynden texts her a brief reply, nodding, and doesn’t pay much more attention to the issue at hand.

——

Two days later, he’s making sure Robb doesn’t throw himself into one of the tanks - he doesn’t worry about Jon doing it, he’s _entirely_ too well-behaved for that - when someone clears his throat behind his back.

“Uhm, Mr. Tully?”

He turns and finds himself face to face with a man who he supposes has to be the infamous ride and the firs thing Brynden thinks is _well, he’s certainly good-looking_. He’s just slightly shorter than him, with hair of a lighter shade of red than his own, large pale blue eyes and a well-kept beard, as bright as his hair - he’s definitely younger than him, some ten years at least, and he has a pleasant enough smile as he extends a hand.

“Please, it’s Brynden,” he says, shaking the man’s hand. He has a nice, strong grip. “Jon, right?”

“Yeah. Jon Connington,” he replies. “Nice to meet you. I see that I finally ran into the other glorified babysitter, or am I wrong?”

“Nah, you’re not, but it could be worse. It’s not like I can spoil _my_ kids, anyway. Robb, if you fall into that pool you’ll get me fired and you don’t want _that_ ,” he says, raising his voice as he sees from the corner of his eye that Robb’s leaning _maybe_ a bit too much. It does work, though.

“Sorry!” Robb calls back apologetically.

“ _Maybe_ I did spare myself a few headaches,” he says.

“Maybe you did,” Jon agrees. “Well, I’ll get them out of your hair. Good luck with your fish smuggling or whatever it was that Cat said you were up to.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it.”

Jon has both kids out of his hair after they say goodbye, and Brynden goes back to his office thinking that he did seem like a nice guy and he certainly was an _attractive_ nice guy.

He thinks of the mark on his hip.

He shakes his head, figuring that it’d be just his luck - he’s been with at least _fifteen_ people named Jon in the years, some way or the other, and none of them ever was the right person.

Still -

He _does_ look nice, and he _did_ like him, for those three seconds they talked.

Well, if they ever run into each other again, he’ll see what to do about it, and he goes back to his _fish smuggling_ , and puts the thought out of his mind.

For now.

——

They meet again at Jon’s birthday party, which is a fairly small affair but evidently not for the poor kid who, at that point, had apparently been unaware that people actually _celebrated their birthday_.

“His grandfather had ideas on the topic,” Jon _Connington_ tells him later, after they ended up talking while eating a piece of cake.

“I suppose they wouldn’t go on any parenting book.”

“Hell, no,” Jon says, shuddering. “Listen, I wouldn’t have taken the liberty of informing your niece and her husband that letting him stay there was a very bad idea if it hadn’t been necessary.” His voice turns a tad sad at that before he stabs that piece of cake with a _lot_ of enthusiasm.

“Uhm, should I have kept my mouth shut about that?”

“No, of course not. It’s just - ah, never mind, it’s not like it’s a _mystery_. Rhaegar, uh, Jon’s father, he - he was my soulmate.”

For a moment, Brynden can only think, _what the hell_.

“Your soulmate? But if he’s with Lyanna -”

“Oh, he was _my_ soulmate. I never said _I_ was his. Well, he actually didn’t have one, and Lyanna hadn’t either, and that’s how they found each other.”

“… Fuck,” Brynden says, apologetically. “Sorry about that. I can’t even imagine how it must feel when it’s not returned.”

“Well, I made peace with it,” Jon sighs. “But I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Wait, you don’t have a problem with it?”

“What? With you being into Jon’s _father_? Did Cat ever tell you I got throw away from my own house because my brother found out I had a guy’s name on my hip?”

“… Oh. Shit, sorry to hear that, too. I hope it was worth it, though?”

“I had a nice life,” Brynden says, “but I never ran into the guy. Common name and no other indication.”

“Must have sucked, though.”

Brynden shrugs. “It did, but I mean, I never got fired even if they found out when they still _could_ have, all of my old roommates are still around and I _am_ talking to my brother now, more or less. Could have been plenty worse.”

Jon grimaces as he eats the last of his cake. “Fair point. I wish I could say the same about the roommates. I mean, I didn’t have any, but - I volunteered at this one GLF circle through the end of the eighties.”

“… I imagine you’ve gone to more funerals than you’d care to count?”

“It’s probably _really_ sad that I never risked much also because I was waiting for Rhaegar to come around and I thought I shouldn’t be with anyone else in between.”

“I don’t really think it’s _sad_ , especially if you had known him that long. That said, you can see that you having a man’s mark on you is _not_ a problem for me.”

“I can see that,” Jon says, his shoulders slightly relaxing.

The conversation ends there - Brynden is _this_ tempted to ask Jon if he wants to get a beer sometime, but he looks not really in the mood for it and he looked tired when he came in and now he looks sort of sad, so - he doesn’t go there.

Maybe next time.

——

“I don’t know,” Jon tells him when he _does_ ask, the next time they run into each other because they were keeping an eye on both kids separately and brought them back at the same time.

“If you’re not interested it’s fine,” Brynden tells him. “Really. No harm done.”

“It’s - not _that_ ,” Jon says a moment later. “It’s just - there’s reasons - it’s not a good idea, but I’m flattered that you asked. Really.”

Brynden thinks about that answer a lot, as he drives back. _There’s reasons. It’s not a good idea but I’m flattered_. Maybe he hasn’t gotten over Rhaegar Targaryen, and it _could_ be, but something tells him it’s not the entire story. And thing is, he usually would take a refusal for what it is, he’s not the kind of person pestering people into dating him, but that answer wasn’t a _no_ , and shit but he thinks he likes Jon from what he can see anyway, and even if it didn’t go anywhere, he never said no to actually having _more_ friends he could commiserate with about how much he hates that the first thing people say when they learn that he’s not into women is something along the lines of _you don’t look gay_ , as if you have to _look_ like it to be attracted to men.

He decides that he’s going to ask a second time just to be sure.

——

“What if,” Brynden asks him the next time they run into each other, “that offer to go out for drinks is absolutely friendly and not about me putting a move on you?”

Jon looks completely flabbergasted when he takes the question in. “Seriously?”

“Why, can’t a guy have a beer with another guy without ulterior motives? Most of my old roommates moved in the suburbs and it’s not like I have a regular crowd to get drunk with.”

Jon stares at him for a long, long moment.

Then -

“Fine, if it’s just for drinks.”

“Hey, I keep my word.”

“Well, you _do_ look trustworthy,” he replies, smiling slightly, and Brynden can’t help thinking that he looks a lot more attractive when he does _that_ , and where did that came from?

Shit. He _really_ does like this guy, doesn’t he? But he’s not going to put a move on him if he doesn’t want to.

Turns out Jon actually lives not too far from him and they meet at a nice, regular pub, the only one in the area where there is no music blasted _period_.

“Nice,” Jon says approvingly as they get in. “I hadn’t been here yet.”

“Moved recently?”

“Yes. Mostly because - I mean, I don’t _need_ money in theory, I could live off what I get from my father’s company, but I had thought I’d find something else I actually liked in the meantime. Except that then I spent a lot of time around my GLF circle, and they asked me if I wanted to run some kind of counseling, and I said yes, and they needed it in the area, so I figured I’d just move - I hated my old neighborhood anyway and it’s too close to my old high school. Or to Rhaegar’s place. I guess I wanted a clean cut.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Brynden says. “It’s a nice place, really. There’s a reason why I commute.”

They talk shop for a while, and it’s a _nice_ evening, and by the time they’ve commiserated over people expecting them to wear pink, exchanged horribly embarrassing stories about Jon and Robb and commiserated some more about their common electricity company, it’s been a lovely evening, and Brynden can’t help feeling like they might have _something_ going on here he can’t quite place.

And - he doesn’t want to hope that he actually ran into the _right_ Jon, even if he has a feeling he might have, but even if it’s not the case, they _do_ click together, and they’ve had a fairly nice time, and honestly, he’s not getting any younger. If they live nearby there might be nothing wrong with actually going out more often.

“So,” he tells Jon as they walk towards the corner at which one of them has to turn right and the other left, “would you fancy doing that again?”

“Do you want to?” Jon asks, sounding slightly surprised of it.

“Sure. I mean, it went well, didn’t it?”

“Is it still friendly?”

“If you want it to be, sure.” He doesn’t say, _I’m not interested_.

Jon stares at him, and then - “I’ll call you,” he finally answers, before disappearing in the darkness.

Brynden really hopes he does.

——

Jon has no idea of what he’s even doing here.

_If you want it to be._

Thing is - it’s pathetic, but at thirty-three he’s _never_ been on the side of the fence where someone makes a move on him, and he’s pretty sure Brynden’s trying, and -

On one side, he _does_ like the man a lot - he’s fun, he’s laid-back, he doesn’t buy into the whole glitter aesthetic and he remembers how horrid were the eighties, and he has fairly great music taste from what they discussed -, on the other -

On the other, he remembers the damned black mark over his shoulder, and he thinks it’s horribly unfair that he should do _anything_ with anyone until he has a sign screaming _unrequited love_ on his shoulder.

Maybe he should just do what a lot of people do and ignore it, but - he always liked the idea of having a soulmate, especially when it’s not as if his preferences give him that great a dating pool, and he’s probably an idiot for even caring about it given that the universe has royally screwed him, and not pleasurably, _twice_.

Still, maybe they could be friends. Or at most being friends with benefits. Sure as hell he wouldn’t mind _that_ too much, especially given that he _has_ seen that Brynden _does_ work out and has the nicely toned kind of body he finds _very_ pleasing on the eyes.

Anyway, he stands out the pub from last time as he waits, and then he sees Brynden come out from the other side of the street.

The first thing Jon notices is that he’s ditched the usual casual post-work attire for a dark blue leather jacket that _really_ does nothing to make him feel less attracted to the man, damn it.

The second is -

 _Wait a moment_.

“Hey,” Brynden tells him, “sorry for the lateness, I got a work call. Wait, is there something wrong?”

He _must_ think that, since Jon is _staring_ at his damned shirt like he’s seeing double.

And of course he is, since it’s a white shirt, nicely fitting, with a _black trout exactly like the one on his shoulder right in the middle_.

“Oh. That was - actually, a mock gift from Robb and Jon? Sort of.”

“ _Mock gift_?”

“Er, see, when I had to leave home, I used to work at a fish restaurant. And I _studied_ fish for a living anyway. When Cat showed up in London way back in the day, she said that people back home called me… the _black fish_ of the family, not the _black sheep_. I kind of liked it, honestly, and I figured what the hell, I should just own up to it, so they all call me like that sometimes. Except the kids, I don’t even know if those two remember my real name most of the time because they just use that if they’re around me, but at my last birthday they asked their parents if _they_ could give me an appropriate shirt, so Ned had it printed somewhere and that was it. I wouldn’t have put it on, really, I use it when I’m at home because it’s comfortable, but that work call took too long so I didn’t change and - Jon, are you all right? You look like you’re going to faint.”

And he might be, because -

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m a complete bloody fucking _idiot_ ,” he says, and wait, why does his own voice sound elated.

“What? I didn’t have that impression -”

“No, no, _I am_ ,” Jon blurts. “Because - I - I never told you one thing. When - after Rhaegar and Lyanna got together for good, my mark turned black. And then it disappeared.”

Brynden’s eyes go slightly wider. “It’s - uncommon, but it happens. So what?”

“So I thought - shit, I thought the universe was making fun of me because my mark was _black_ already and not red,” Jon keeps on, feeling like he’s going to hyperventilate, and then he takes off his jacket, unbuttons his shirt’s cuff and pulls it upwards until the black trout on his arm is finally uncovered.

At _that_ , Brynden’s blue eyes get _even bigger_ , and then -

“Fuck,” he says, “ _I_ am an idiot.”

“… What, how?”

“Oh, shit, they’ll make fun of us _forever_.”

“They’ll - make fun of _us_?” Jon asks. Brynden shakes his head and turns on his side, raising up his shirt and jacket and uncovering -

_His goddamned name written on his hip._

In red.

“Oh,” Jon blurts, realizing that it’s hardly the smart thing to do.

“Yeah, _pretty much_ ,” Brynden says. “I - I’ve been with a _lot_ of people with that name, but it never really clicked. So I had kind of lost hope I’d ever run into - the right one.”

They look at each other, their eyes locking, and then both of them groan at the same time as Jon hears a flare of pain in his shoulder, and Brynden obviously does the same because he slams his hand on his hip, and only takes it away maybe a minute later.

 _His_ mark has stayed the same.

Jon’s, on the other side -

Jon’s is burning a bright red, brighter than Rhaegar’s mark ever was.

“Maybe we were both idiots,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Maybe we were,” Brynden agrees, letting his shirt cover his hip again. “And - so, the reason you weren’t _sure_ of this was that -”

“That since I had a _black_ mark I thought it would be unfair to - do anything sort of serious with _anyone_ since I was supposed to be with someone who didn’t reciprocate _already_ , but it obviously wasn’t the case.”

“Then, in light of what just happened, I think it’s high time I start repaying you for _that_? I mean, I didn’t _decide_ it, but I can’t imagine it was such a great thing to get it just after - well. That other one turning black.”

Jon isn’t even going to try to deny it - it wouldn’t make sense. Not when it turns out that _he’s had his soulmate in front of him for four months and didn’t notice_.

“Well, fine, it was shitty, but it wasn’t your fault. I might do with the universe repaying me for - shit, I got that mark when I turned six. I’ve spent what, _twenty-seven_ years either waiting for Rhaegar to come around or brooding over it, I think I’m down with that.”

“Wait, when you were six?”

“Yeah. It was what, ’76? Probably.”

“… Let me guess, you were born on February 6th?”

“… How would _you_ know that.”

“Because I thought I wasn’t getting one until I woke up on the morning of February 6th of _the year you were born_ ,” Brynden says, shaking his head, and _what_ -

The day -

“Fuck,” Jon says, “ _fuck_ , and I thought - and I thought this entire thing was a joke.”

If he thinks that his name has been on someone _all along_ without changes he wants to faint.

“Well, I thought the universe hated me because I’ve run into endless people named like you and it always turned out to be a bust, but I don’t think this is one. So, can I put a move on you already?”

“ _Please do_ ,” Jon answers, and a moment later he’s pressed up against the wall with Brynden’s hands on his face and they’re kissing and _fuck_ but Brynden isn’t wasting time here - he’s kissing him like he _means_ it and Jon kisses back with a moan, his hands grasping at the leather jacket, and _fuck_ but it doesn’t feel the way it did with Oberyn or with the few other people he’s been with since he found out Rhaegar wasn’t going to be an option, and a back alley is probably not very classy but as they press up against each other he realizes that _he doesn’t care_. And no one is passing by, so _who cares_. For once, he can afford to not give a shit for once.

By the time they’re catching their breath, he feels like laughing for the next hour or so. Possibly very much hysterically.

“Right,” he says, “if you go on like this, I think you’ll make up for lost time very shortly.”

“Hey, I waited a hell of a long time, I _also_ want to make up for lost time.”

Jon looks up at him, and decides that for once he’s just going to go for it already and fuck caution.

“I live some ten minutes from here. You?”

“Five,” Brynden grins.

“Your place?”

“My place,” Brynden agrees, and for once the fluttering in Jon's stomach feels _good_ and not the kind that makes him feel like he’ll feel sick.

 _All the contrary_ , actually.

——

They _run_ , damn it, and Jon has a moment in which he suddenly feels like he just was catapulted into one of those rom-coms that he admits he kind of enjoys more than he should, not that he’s ever watched any thinking _he_ was rom-com material.

Instead -

Instead they _do_ , and then they run upstairs and for a moment he thinks, _for not being as young as we could be at least none of us is out of breath_ , and when they walk in he takes a moment to take in the place - it’s three rooms, he thinks, he can see the living room and the other closed door has to be the living room. The entrance is covered in pictures of exotic fish, he can see a lot of pictures of Cat and her kids and her siblings scattered around the bookshelves covering the wall. It’s nice, he thinks. His own place is better than it used to be back when he lived in his previous apartment near the company’s offices, but it’s still not as nice, he thinks.

“So,” Brynden asks, “you want the tour now or later?”

Suddenly, Jon’s arm is _burning_ and he decides that he can ponder house aesthetics later.

“Later,” he breathes, and a moment later they’ve almost tripped over a stack of books as they burst into the bedroom - thankfully the bed is large and definitely comfortable, he’d know because he ended up on his back, and he moves back so that he doesn’t have his legs half off it.

“Nice,” he says, “I could get used to it. It’s nicer than mine.”

“Fair,” Brynden says, “you look good in it,” and then they’re kissing again and getting rid of their clothes - Brynden’s infamous shirt ends up on the ground along with his jacket and Jon’s shirt loses a few buttons in the hurry, but who even cares. He’ll get a new one.

“Please tell me you’ve got lube somewhere,” Jon says as he sits up with his back against the headboard, kicking off his shoes.

“‘Course I do. I don’t go out often, doesn’t mean I’m bloody fucking celibate.” He stands up, kicking off his shoes on the way, opens one of the drawers and takes out a condom and a small bottle of lube before crawling back up on the bed. Jon is probably not subtle as he stares at the man’s chest and at the still reddish hair covering it.

“Like the view?” Brynden asks.

“I might be,” Jon smiles back.

“So, any preferences? Because I was thinking that for this round, you might just lie back and enjoy yourself, but if you’d rather do something else, I’m flexible.”

“I might be as well,” Jon says, even if most times he thought about doing it with Rhaegar he wasn’t _below_ him, but as far as anyone else was concerned, both ways were fine. “But I think - I might do with lying back and _enjoying it_ this time.”

“Nice to see we’re getting along,” Brynden smirks, and then he moves back down on the bed. “Well then, I think you might’ve been waiting long enough.”

Before Jon can say anything, Brynden’s hands are on his jeans and he’s pushed them down and away along with his underwear, and _hell_ was he this hard already? _Maybe_ , but it doesn’t matter because a moment later Brynden’s taken his cock inside his mouth and _fuck_ , he needs to ask the man how much practice he’s had at it because he’s gone for it at once, and the moment the man’s tongue runs along the head before he sucks Jon almost howls - it’s been _long_ , too much, and he only manages to bite back on it out of sheer control and because he doesn’t want the neighbors to be entirely aware of what’s going down.

Still, he can’t avoid the sounds coming out of his throat, and the _yes_ es and the _pleases_ , and at some point he buries his hand into auburn hair that’s longer than his own and he groans when he feels that he’s getting close, his balls tightening, and he tries to not cant his hips upwards as much as instinct tells him, and then he blurts that he’s about to come if Brynden doesn’t slow down -

And he _doesn’t_ , and Jon doesn’t even know how long he’s lasted but then again the time when he’d have felt ashamed if it wasn’t _long_ are long over, and he closes his eyes as he goes rigid and finally, _finally_ lets go, maybe thrusting shallowly into Brynden’s mouth, and fuck _he’s actually swallowing_ , and he’s breathing heavily as a wave of pleasure racks through his muscles and he goes completely boneless against the mattress.

“Wow,” he says after he’s caught his breath, “you’re _definitely_ making it worth my time.”

“Good to know,” Brynden groans, his voice sounding rougher, and Jon spreads his legs slightly as he crawls back up on the bed. “You mind -”

“Absolutely not,” Jon breathes before dragging him down and kissing the salt off his mouth, and by the time they’re done Brynden’s on top of him again and he has a hand on Jon’s thigh and Jon can feel his erection pressing up against his crotch. “And I should probably make it worth _your_ while.”

“Anything you wouldn’t want to do?”

“Nothing that comes to mind,” he grins, and spreads his legs wider, searching for the lube that was somewhere to his left on the bed. He finds it and slams it into Brynden’s hand.

“I think,” Brynden says, “that you can get that open while I get _this_ open.”

Right. The condom. Jon nods, sitting back up and getting the damned thing open while Brynden makes quick work of putting the condom on. Jon hands him back the lube and waits until he pours some of it on his fingers. Jon’s _absolutely_ waiting for it when he pushes one fingers inside him, slow, once, twice, and then two, and after then he pours some more and pushes his fingers in deeper (they’re rough, Jon thinks, and he likes it, he likes it _a lot_ ) and Jon doesn’t even try to stop himself from screaming out loud when Brynden’s fingers hit his prostate once, _twice_ , and even if he’s just come and he knows his refractory period is hardly what it was when he was younger, he can feel himself getting hard again.

“Fuck,” he blurts, “just go for it.”

“You sure? I can do it again -”

“I’m fine if it’s a little rough. Just do it, all right?”

Brynden nods, pouring the rest of the lube on his hand and then running it over his cock, and then he’s lining up and Jon’s moved his legs behind his back and then he’s _pushing_ and it _is_ a little rough, but exactly enough, and he doesn’t even think before his hand grasps at Brynden’s hip just where his name is burning red, and a moment later Brynden’s hand is curled around his arm and they’re looking at each other before their mouths crash together as Jon’s hips cant upwards and Brynden’s slam down, and -

It feels _right_.

It feels just _right_ , the way it’s never felt with anyone else, and probably the way it was supposed to be because after all _it was meant to be_ , and maybe he’s not going to come again until the next round but having done it before he can concentrate on how everything else feels and how _good_ it is, and if he had to wait this long -

He thinks that this is how it starts, there might be really was worth it.

——

Later, the sheets are dirty as hell and now _he_ is without breath and Brynden is too and they’re both grinning so hard, he can’t remember the last time it happened.

“Well,” Brynden says, “I think we’ve been idiots, but we might be making up for it. Right?”

“Shit, we have a _lot_ to make up for. But please don’t count going clubbing into it.”

“Great, because I always hated that, too. That said, I can cook better than the average place around here anyway.”

“Well, I’m a pro at cleaning and I always sucked at cooking.”

“Sounds like we can share.”

“We _absolutely_ can,” Jon says, moving closer. Then - “If we tell your nephew and Jon _how_ we figured it out they’ll never let us live it down, will they?”

“… No,” Brynden agrees, “but good thing they got me that shirt or we might be dancing around each other still.”

“Fair enough,” Jon nods, and then they’re kissing again, their hands on their respective marks, and Jon doesn’t have to look at either of them to know they’re burning bright red.

 

_Epilogue_

 

“ _That_ was your favorite place?” Jon asks, wrapping his coat tighter around him. It’s cold, it’s early spring after all, but it was the one time they both could get some vacation time while Cat was still at the old house with the children for Easter vacations and while he’s not _that_ fond of his hometown Jon still insisted to visit it and said that he he could do with fresh air, and so here they are.

Years later, it looks better than Brynden remembered it, honestly, but it’s been a long time and he doesn’t have to hide now, does he?

“Hey, if you wanted to be on your own, abandoned train tracks in the middle of the fields were ideal,” he replies, shrugging, still not standing up. He will. Just not in a moment.

“Hey, I wasn’t criticizing. It’s pretty. I mean, in a rough kind of way, I guess, but it’s nice. At least it’s _green_. You know how much green I saw growing up? Not as much as this.”

“Fair,” Brynden agrees - London really doesn’t compare. He does miss it, at times. But he couldn’t have gone much farther than _here_ , if he had stayed. “Well, good to know you don’t hate the country.”

“I don’t,” Jon laughs. “So, no one knew?”

“Nah,” Brynden shakes his head. “And good thing, because otherwise someone else would have known that I read books I shouldn’t even know _existed_ , according to the local priest.”

“Such as?”

“ _Maurice_ ,” Brynden shrugs. “No one had marks there but if you wanted to think you _could_ run into the guy of your life, it was fairly nice.”

“Did they ever find you having it?”

“No. I was good at hiding things,” Brynden smirks, and then he stands up, opening his backpack and grabbing part of what’s inside, that he kept carefully hidden until now. He kind of feels like he’s too damned old for this kind of thing, but _neither_ of them actually could do any of the juvenile idiotic stuff that their friends or relatives could, and at least _he_ dated around a bit even if it was never anything serious, Jon _didn’t_ , and for a moment he thinks that Rhaegar Targaryen really must not have had eyes, but -

It did work out in the end, didn’t it?

“Hey,” he says, “are you up for some more of that ridiculously sappy shit we never used to do when we were fifteen?”

“Such as?”

He moves closer and presses a small bouquet of bright red flowers that he got at the florist’s before. “Ned did that with Cat all the time,” he says, shrugging. “She _did_ like it.”

For a moment, Jon looks completely flabbergasted, but then his lips curl upwards as he takes them, their fingers tangling together. “Well, I might have had a few moments when I imagined someone else giving them to me, so you won’t find me complaining.”

“Good. So, you want to get back?”

“Not yet. I said I liked it, didn’t I?”

He leans down as Jon’s hand moves under his shirt and over his hip, and it might be cold as they kiss again -

And it feels just _right_.

 

 

End.


End file.
